“Same time tomorrow?” the Alien seemed to ask in the silence.
The enemy was formidable: the Galactic Raiders, a ragtag group of neon-purple aliens with oversized heads and translucent blasters. They held the strategic high ground of the Ottoman Cliffs.
“Man down!” Grunt cried silently. “Ignore the beast! Advance!” toy-soldiers-complete
A mechanical whirring filled the room. It wasn’t an alien. It was the "Cat," a furry titan the size of a skyscraper, prowling the perimeter. The Cat sniffed a Bazooka Joe on the front lines. With one disinterested flick of a massive paw, Joe was sent tumbling into the dark abyss under the sofa.
The soldiers didn't blink—partly because they were molded that way, but mostly because they were disciplined. Corporal "Lefty" (who had lost half an arm to a teething puppy in '24) checked his plastic bayonet. “Movement on the flank, Sir!” Lefty whispered. “Same time tomorrow
“Listen up!” Grunt hissed, his voice a tiny vibration in the air. “The Great Thumb has been gone for two sunsets. If we don’t secure the Battery Pack from the TV remote by dawn, we’ll be stuck in the dark when the Vacuum Beast awakes.”
Huge fingers descended from the heavens. The Boy scooped up the remote, but in his haste, he knocked the Alien Commander and General Grunt together. For a brief moment, they were jammed into the Boy's pocket, shoulder to molded shoulder. “Man down
The Boy tossed them both into the Toy Chest—a cavernous, wooden sanctuary where the war always ended. As the lid closed, Grunt looked at the Alien Commander. The enmity of the battlefield faded in the warmth of the pile of stuffed animals.
